Walk a Muddy Mile in My Boots
by laureleaf
Summary: A rough hunt triggers a fight that makes it clear that Eileen can't work with the Winchesters anymore. Supernatural forces have to intervene to show them that they are better together. Sequel to "Make It Home".
1. Plan C for Charm

A/N: This is the promised sequel to Make it Home. Obviously, you should read that story first, but the salient points are {spoilers} Eileen didn't get killed by hellhounds, and Sam and Eileen start pursuing a romantic relationship. {end spoilers}

I dearly love Eileen, and firmly believe that she should be Sam's happy ending. So yeah, this story is 110% Saileen. (Seriously, this ship just sails itself; its name literally sounds like "sailing".)

Plenty of angst, you know me. Warnings for language (blame Dean) and drama (also blame Dean). Chapter-specific warnings will be posted (this chapter has show-level monster violence). I don't own _Supernatural_ , unfortunately for me and fortunately for the characters. Other fandoms/quotes you recognize aren't mine either. Reviews are love!

~Always Keep Fighting ; You Are Not Alone~

* * *

Eileen didn't know the rawhead was there until it slammed into her side. She managed to keep her feet, barely, and elbowed it hard enough in the gut that it let her go. On a usual hunt, she would have put up several wards and sigils that would have warned her of a monster's approach before it came into physical contact. She hadn't had the time to place them this time because Sam had been… distracting… and they'd found the rawhead's swampy lair later than originally planned. Dean had concluded that she wouldn't need the early warning system anyway because she had two hearing hunters at her side.

Eileen made a mental note to never listen to the Winchester's arguments ever again as one of the rawhead's powerful kicks hit her stomach and sent her sprawling in the mushy ground. She scrambled to regain her footing as it loomed over her. Luckily, Sam chose that moment to tackle the rawhead from the side. Eileen got to her feet as he grappled with the monster. She went to join the fray, but only succeeded in distracting Sam long enough for the rawhead to clock him on the temple. The tall hunter went down in an uncoordinated splatter of limbs and did not rise. Eileen pulled her boot knife and scratched a hasty rune into the closest tree. The rawhead was thrown backward several feet as she triggered the spell with a bit of blood from her split lip. Waste not, want not and all that jazz.

Eileen headed towards her fallen lover, but Dean caught her eye by waving his flashlight.

"Get the kids out of here!" he ordered, pointing to the small group of cowering children. The rawhead had made a crude sort of cage at the waterside. They had freed the kids earlier, but the monster's untimely appearance had interrupted the evacuation. The terrified children were cowering far too close to the fight for comfort. They looked one good scare away from spooking and scattering into the dangerous swamp. Eileen hesitated, torn between assisting the children and helping Sam.

" _Rules_ ," Dean signed with a glare before charging towards the rawhead. Right. The Rules. An ever-growing, often illogical set of guidelines for living and working with the Winchesters. One of which was that Dean would save Sam, Sam would save Eileen, and Eileen would focus on staying alive because 'I'm-the-epitome-of-hunting-Dean' could _apparently_ save himself. Bullshit. She wasn't some helpless maiden, and Dean was far from invulnerable.

Nevertheless, Eileen slipped her knife back into its boot sheath and ran over to the frightened kids. She could feel slime squelching underneath her feet. Why did monsters seem to prefer filthy lairs? The blood and gore was part of the job, granted, but swamp scum felt like overkill. It would be nice to have a _clean_ hunt once in a while.

Most of the kids had tear tracks through the mud on their faces, and almost all of their mouths were open in screams that she couldn't hear: she'd left her hearing aids in the car so they couldn't be damaged by the inevitable water exposure. Not a single one of the five children were older than ten. They made quite a pitiable sight. That was going to change: she knew these kids were fearless warriors. She just had to remind them.

Eileen pointed to the eldest-looking, a girl in pigtails and overalls. She'd been helpful in keeping the other children quiet during their initial escape.

"I have a quest for you, my brave valkyrie," Eileen told her. Her real name was Valerie, but Eileen had learned long ago that while children didn't follow orders well, they were great at following the rules of play-pretend. If Eileen said Valerie was a fearless viking warrior, a brave valkyrie she would be, monsters be damned. Valerie straightened and gave a passable salute, falling back into the role she'd crafted earlier during their 'game'.

"Yes, my liege!"

"Take your noble troops and protect our wounded giant," Eileen gestured towards the still-unmoving Sam. "When he awakes he shall escort you to Valhalla and endless bowls of ice cream!"

"What 'bout the monster?" a gap-toothed boy spoke up. His name was Tom, but his persona was Galahed the Great. Not to be confused with the more famous Galahad, obviously.

"I swear to you, knight of the Roundest Table, I shall slay it," Eileen put a hand over her heart. "But in order to do so I need you to stay together. No one left behind! For Narnia!" She pumped her fist in the air.

"For Aslan!" the children chorused the battle cry energetically.

"Hurry now: the ice cream will melt if you do not hurry on your quest."

Ice cream, she'd also learned, was an excellent motivator. The children quickly splashed their way over to Sam. To her relief, he was starting to stir awake. Kids were easy enough to manage: give them a quest and they'd forget to be afraid. Give Sam someone to save, and he'd forget his own issues. Birds, meet stone.

Eileen dashed back to the main fight. Dean was down now, and he wasn't moving. She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Invincible indeed.

"Hey you!" she yelled at the rawhead. It turned to face her and sneered. Dean had managed to break what passed as its nose, judging by the amount of blood dripping down its face.

Eileen had hunted rawhead before, but she was still surprised at how _fast_ they were. Something that large and ungainly should lumber, not dash. The monster hit her like a freight train, and she felt her kidneys smack against some hard roots hiding underneath the mud. If she was lucky, she wouldn't be peeing blood tomorrow. The bruises were certainly going to be spectacular: how many times had the rawhead crashed into her tonight? Leathery fingers sought her throat, but she managed to get in a solid breath before the regularly scheduled strangling began.

Due to the dangers of high voltages in a aqueous environment, none of them had brought their tasers. The standing plan was to immobilize the monster by any means necessary before dragging it to a drier location for electrocution. Of course, that plan wasn't exactly _ahem_ going to plan. Time for something a little more traditional.

Eileen groped in her pocket for the charm she'd prepared earlier. Hunters had to kill rawheads before tasers were common, after all. Despite her research to the contrary, Dean hadn't thought the spell would work safely either. But screw what Dean thought: he wasn't getting killed right now. She would do things her way. Her methods had kept her alive this long, no reason to change that now.

Eileen fought down the desperation rising as the monster pinned down her arms with its legs, stopping her search. No matter. The magic would theoretically be effective from a short distance, but it wouldn't harm a human unless they were directly touching the runestone. Theoretically.

In any case, Eileen was out of options. Her hunting partners were down and there was a group of kids to save. She gasped out the trigger word for the spell with the last of her oxygen. The last thing she saw was the rawhead's ghastly smile as her world faded to black.


	2. Murphy's Law

A/N: Sorry for the late posting: life happened and then this chapter _did not_ want to be written. Warnings for show-level violence and swearing and a bit of angst. Comments are love!

* * *

This hunt was going to hell in a handbasket, as per usual. It was supposed to be a simple bash-and-grab, but _nooo_ , Sam wanted to do more 'research' on the swamp version of rawhead and Eileen wanted to do more 'research' on sketchy gypsy electrocution spells and from the sounds coming through the thin walls all they were 'researching' was advanced anatomy and all the while _kids were disappearing_. Even once Dean had drug them both from their sex-stinking room, the two lovebirds had been next to useless. He didn't know why he'd even bothered to try and enlist their help in the first place. They'd been bitchy in the car, slow to set up the necessary traps once they arrived, even slower to rescue the poor kids, and they had both been utterly useless in the Boss Battle against the rawhead so far. Sam was still out for the count beside Random Tree Number 145. Eileen had apparently failed in her job too, since the kids were currently running wild through the blast zone. Dean had almost lured the rawhead into his slick rope trap when it had landed a lucky blow. His touchy knee had given out at just the wrong moment and had sent him sprawling in the ubiquitous mud. It hurt like a mother, but he was back on his feet, ready to finish breaking what was left of the rawhead's face, within a few moments. Because unlike _some_ people, he could do his damn job. But then Eileen had to go and draw attention to herself, and the monster was soon halfway across the clearing, as far away from Dean's trap as could be and far too close to the helpless Sam and even more helpless kids.

 _Sonofabitch!_

The woman apparently had decided to make it her personal goal to utterly wreck every single one of his very simple plans while totally disregarding every order he'd ever made, including the most important Rule: Don't Die. See example (a) Eileen getting gleefully pummelled into the mud by a very pissed-off rawhead without even a tiny semblance of resistance.

Damn everything straight to Hell. Do not pass Go; do not collect $200.

Dean was halfway to the rescue when he spotted something shiny glinting in the mud. It was one of the charms Eileen had been obsessing over earlier. Perhaps it might come in handy once he saved her sorry ass. He held the stone in his left hand and readied his knife in his right. Beheading a rawhead wouldn't kill it, but it would certainly slow it down. It was a good a plan as any. Better not tell Eileen though, because she would probably derail that one too…

"Shekanti!"

Immediately, Dean's whole arm seized. A million needles of pain radiated from the stone in his fist, lacing up his arm and into his chest where they throbbed in time with his frantic heartbeat. His body locked against his will, and despite his straining he couldn't even force his frozen vocal chords to scream.

* * *

Sam could only stare in horror as bolts of electricity danced over his brother's twitching body. The rawhead turned towards the sickening crackling sound, revealing Eileen's motionless form.

 _No_.

He stumbled forward on unsteady legs, splashing slime everywhere as he struggled towards the people he loved. Distantly, he could hear children screaming in terror, but they were not his priority right now. By the time he reached Dean, the arcs of electricity had ceased. The rawhead barreled into him before Sam could determine if either of his hunting partners were still alive. The monster wrenched on his arm sharply as he struggled to escape its grip. Of course the monster would target his bad shoulder. He grit his teeth as the weakened joint threatened to dislocate. He didn't have time to waste fighting a rawhead, and he certainly didn't have time to waste on pain. Dean and Eileen could be dying or even dead right now.

Sam broke free, the ample mud breaking his face-first fall into the ground. He could feel his shoulder slide back into proper alignment as he rolled over the joint and onto his back. Sam ignored his screaming joint as he tucked his body into a ball and rocked onto his shoulder blades. At just the right moment, he _kicked_ the looming rawhead in the middle of its chest, throwing it backwards a few feet. As he struggled to return to standing, Sam's stabilizing hand found a length of sodden rope. Dean's trap. His brother had been so obsessive about the damn thing before everything had gone straight to shit. Time for it to live up to the hype.

The monster started to stand, sludge and blood dripping from its shaggy hair. Sam lurched to his feet and charged with a roar, startling the rawhead into stumbling backwards into Dean's trap. Moments later, the monster was dangling several feet above the ground by its ankles. Sam handcuffed it just to make sure it wouldn't escape. When he looked back, he saw that neither Eileen nor Dean had moved.

"Mister-Giant-Sir?"

It was the children they'd come to rescue. One little boy latched onto his soaked pant leg, making him stumble. Moments later, the tallest girl pulled sharply on his bad arm to get his attention. The agony of their sudden jostling made him curse.

"Lady 'Leen said you would take us to ice cream," the girl said warily. Sam just stared at her incredulously. Kids were odd, but this was a bit extreme.

"What?" he gritted out as he leaned over to be closer to their height. The change in elevation made his vision swim and his balance waver. Concussion. Wonderful.

"Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!" the congregation of children chorused. Their high voices and loud volume made his ears ring.

 _Enough._

He didn't have time to waste nursing his concussion, or his shoulder, and he certainly didn't have time to waste on ice cream. Dean and Eileen could be dying or even dead right now.

"Be quiet," he growled, unsympathetic to the children's wide fearful eyes at his tone. He relished the momentary silence. "Stay here."

"But what 'bout the quest?" one brave lad spoke up. "You defeated the bad guy, so now we gotta celebrate!"

"No," Sam stumbled towards Dean and Eileen. "Now you realize the cost of your victory."

"But ice cream?" The littlest girl's voice raised to a plaintive wail that grated on every one of Sam's frayed nerves.

"I said be _quiet_!" Sam snapped over his shoulder as he slid to his knees beside Dean. He could hear the children crying as he placed his fingers on the pulse point in his brother's neck. A steady heartbeat pulsed under his grime-coated fingers. _Thank Chuck_. There was probably some damage, but at least the shock hadn't triggered another catastrophic heart attack like last time. Once his greatest fear was negated, Sam felt bad about yelling at the children. He'd hated it when his father had done that to him as a kid, but he had no idea what else he was supposed to do to get them off his back so he could do his job.

Sam clapped his unconscious brother on the shoulder before moving to Eileen. She stirred slightly at his touch, her eyes blinking open a moment later.

 _They were both alive._

Sam almost wept with relief. They were still royally screwed. He had a concussion and a wrenched shoulder, Dean was electrocuted and unconscious, Eileen was half-strangled and was moving like she'd taken a bad beating, they were a mile deep into a dangerous swamp with a rawhead still to kill and oh yeah, just under half a dozen traumatized kids to get home in one piece.

But they were all alive, albeit utterly soaked in swamp muck, and that was enough.


	3. Messes

A/N: So sorry for the late posting: I've been distracted by my other stories... No particular warnings in this chapter, just a lot of bellyaching. Thanks for reading/following/reviewing!

* * *

Eileen knew Sam was there even before she opened her eyes. No one else she knew wore that understated but decidedly masculine aftershave. His grip was tight on her upper arm, anchoring her as she meandered towards consciousness. His breath was on her face, warm and irregular: he was saying something. Eileen was surprised she could feel it through all the mud.

"I'm fine," she interjected as she blinked her eyes open. Sam's face simultaneously tried to look overjoyed and worried. It was incredibly endearing, and she couldn't help but lean forward and place a quick kiss on his lips, swamp muck notwithstanding. Eileen caught sight of Dean stirring out of the corner of her view as Sam leaned forward for another kiss. Moments later Sam had abandoned her to anxiously triage his brother. She tried not to be hurt by that and turned her attention towards the children. They were huddled a short distance away.

"My valkyrie?" Eileen called. Valerie turned towards her. Eileen beckoned as she struggled to a seated position. Her lower back and entire abdomen felt like utter crap. Almost like she'd just been beaten by a rawhead. Go figure. To top it off, the wet mud was doing its level best to permeate its chill straight through her bones. Her clothes were a total loss: she was never going to get the stink or the stains out.

"Are all you brave warriors okay?" she asked, looking them over. They appeared no muddier or bloodier than they had been earlier, but it didn't hurt to check. They all hesitantly nodded an affirmative.

"Mr. Giant-Sir didn't give us ice cream like you said," one of the boys accused. His name was Bryan, if her memory served. "He yelled at us." Eileen pursed her lips. She would have to have words with Sam about that later.

"Well, that's because he's a poop-head on occasion," she tried to joke. Her voice was raspy and painful from where the rawhead had choked her, but she pushed through. Her efforts were rewarded with a few tentative grins. "Or perhaps he lost it. Perhaps we can find it together?"

As she herded the children into a line, she spared a glance towards Sam and Dean. The elder brother looked even worse than she felt, if that was even possible, but he was staggering to his feet nevertheless. Sam was holding his arm like he'd wrenched his shoulder, again. She'd have to check on it later too. Weren't they just all a sorry muddy lot.

The rawhead was giving its best impression of a pinata as it twisted slowly on the rope holding its ankles far above the ground. She wasn't sure how it had gotten up there, but that didn't matter. It looked dead enough. Apparently her spell had worked, although she was fuzzy on how the monster had gotten that high into the tree.

"You done?" Dean grunted as he slogged past her. That was rich. No _"How are you, Eileen?"_ or _"How are the kids, Eileen?"_ or _"Thank you for saving our hides again, Eileen"_. Typical.

Eileen used her anger to bolster her flagging stamina as she went to snag her backpack from where she'd stashed it earlier. It was a lot heavier than she remembered it being, and felt like murder on her already-bruised back. Neither Winchester seemed to have any inclination to grab their gear, so Eileen fetched their bags too. That was a mistake: they were even heavier than her backpack. She couldn't exactly hand them over to the kids to carry, though, so she just grit her teeth and dealt with it. It was clear that the brothers were too wrapped up in each other to actually help with the cleanup. They had already left the clearing, and with her voice wrecked there was no way she could call them back. The kids milled around despondently, their heads hanging and their feet dragging. It had been a very long night, after a very trying day, and they were on their last legs. But there was still a long mile of hiking left before they made it to the car. Apparently she'd have to clean up this mess too.

"What do you say," she turned towards the children, a falsely cheerful grin plastered on her face, "We sing a little song to help us on our quest?"

* * *

Every single one of Dean's cells hurt.

Every. Single. One.

Each step ached like a marathon. Not that he'd ever ran a marathon, but he'd run enough in his life to get the general idea. His fingers tingled painfully and occasionally his hands spasmed so hard he thought that he might break bones. It took more effort than it should to breathe. It wasn't the same pain as broken ribs; he should know. More like he'd somehow sprained his diaphragm and all his intercostal muscles at once. Dean could feel his heart beat agonizingly with every throb of his head. His _teeth_ hurt, probably from clenching his jaw so tightly in defense against the rest of his abused body's complaints. About a quarter-mile into the hike back to the car he was wishing for the sweet release of death or a bottle of Jameson, whichever he could find first. And lucky him, he had another three-quarters of a mile to go before they'd reach the car.

Dean had learned his lesson: he was _never_ hunting rawhead again. It always ended with his electrocution, and that sucked worse than Miley Cyrus on loop. He was becoming something of a connoisseur on how to die, and this was right up there with hellhounds as far as most-sucky ways to go. Of course, even hellhounds would be preferable to his poor auditory system than his current situation. Eileen had encouraged the kids to sing some god-awful repetitive camp song that was hardly an improvement on their shrieking wails from earlier. The noise was doing absolutely nothing for his throbbing headache. It was nice that Eileen was finally getting around to the job she was supposed to have done an hour ago, but Dean wished it wasn't at the cost of his eardrums.

They had been forced to leave the rawhead in the swamp. It was too large for Eileen to drag, Sam's shoulder was out of whack again, and Dean was doing all he could to move under his own power. They'd have to hike through this muck _again_ tomorrow in order to gank it properly. Hopefully it wouldn't escape in the meantime.

Dean was _not_ happy about the situation. At all. This case had been a mess from start to end. But he would finish the job, namely, save the kids first. Then gank the monster. And then he was going to strangle his family because they'd apparently forgotten how to hunt.


	4. Bottles and Babysitting

A/N: Extra long chapter for your patience. The big fight is coming soon, promise.

Warnings for language, references to past (cannon) trauma, and a potentially earworm-inducing song. (Trust me, I have paid for that decision.)

Thanks so much for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting! You keep me writing.

* * *

Sam had never been a fan of the song _99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall._ Growing up sitting in the backseat for hours every day with a brother that loved nothing more than to torment you would do that. He hated the stupid song even more now. In the Cage, Lucifer was fond of making up new variations like _99 Buckets of Blood on the Floor._ The song's irritating melody didn't get any less grating with each corny and gory rendition.

" _Eighty-seven bottles of pop on the wall, eighty-seven bottles of pop! Take one down, pass it around, eighty-six bottles of pop on the wall!"_

Sam grit his teeth at the sound. He knew why Eileen had suggested camp songs to keep the children in line. He also knew that she had no idea what the jaunty tune meant to him. He knew that all he had to do was open his mouth and they'd sing something different.

But he couldn't, he just _couldn't._ He was Sam fucking Winchester, for chrissakes. He could handle listening to a stupid kids' song for five fucking minutes. It was keeping the children moving and uncomplaining, and the car wasn't that far away and then they'd stop.

" _Seventy-two bottles of pop on the wall, seventy-two bottles of pop! Take one down, pass it around, seventy-one bottles of pop on the wall!"_

Sam swallowed hard and tried to focus on his brother instead of the children's high-pitched and off-tune singing. The sound wasn't doing anything to help his concussion, regardless of the tune itself. Dean stumbled, bumping into Sam and jarring his bad shoulder. They both bit back curses in deference to the young ears nearby.

"If I have to carry you, I'm going to make you do laundry for the next month," Sam threatened breathlessly.

"Back atcha Sasquatch," Dean huffed, his hand massaging the thigh above his bad knee. "Gah, you'd think with Cas patching us up all the time we wouldn't have to deal with shitty joints. Or anything else related to getting old, come to think of it."

"Yeah, well if we're counting you're what, seventy or so?"

"Shut up, dicenturian," Dean shot back.

Sam did.

It was a sobering thought, after all. He didn't like to think about how _long_ he'd been downstairs anymore than he liked thinking about what happened during those years. The human mind only had so much memory space, after all, and he wanted to fill it with things other than _blood_ and _fire_ and _death_. Not that there wasn't plenty of that topside as well.

At least Dean could theoretically outlive his Hell-time if he was careful. No way was Sam going to live for a hundred years human, much less two hundred. Not that he really wanted to. Certainly not without Dean. Not again.

" _Sixty-four bottles of pop on the wall, sixty-four bottles of pop! Take one down, pass it around, sixty-three bottles of pop on the wall!"_

The sleek lines of the Impala gleamed in the beams of their flashlights. Thank Chuck. Sam felt his blood pressure drop from sheer relief, which almost caused _him_ to drop. Dean actually did, but Sam managed to catch him before his knees completely buckled.

"Sonofabitch," he groaned with feeling as he struggled under his brother's weight. Eileen passed right by, not even offering to help. Sam bit back his frustration and merely shrugged Dean's arm further over his neck in an attempt to take some of the pressure off his bad shoulder.

"We are _never_ hunting rawhead again," Dean grumbled as they made their unsteady way to the car. "How come _I_ always get zapped?"

"Winchester luck, I suppose." Wasn't that just a metaphor for their whole lives? They would try to do a good thing, but always ended up getting hit by the weapon that was supposed to be helping them. And then once everything was over and all they wanted to do was rest, they were denied that as well.

" _Fifty-five bottles of pop on the wall, fifty-five bottles of pop! Take one down, pass it around, fifty-four bottles of pop on the wall!"_

"Could you unlock the car?" Eileen called from up ahead. Sam's brow furrowed. Her hands looked free, and he could have sworn she kept a spare key in her backpack. Couldn't she see he had other things to be worrying about right now? He propped Dean up against the side of the car. His brother could be pissed about the mud smears on the pristine windows tomorrow. Or later today, or whatever.

Dean fumbled around in his pockets for the key. He almost scratched the paint of the car door as he jammed it uncoordinatedly towards the lock. Sam had to take it from his hands and open the door himself. Dean would forgive mud, but not paint scratches. Thankfully, his brother had the foresight to cover the seats of the Impala with drop cloths. The children piled into the backseat, still singing enthusiastically. Dean put up a token protest at Sam driving, but he was overruled by dint of being unable to scoot across the bench seat to the driver's side. Eileen squeezed into the space in front of the radio.

Sam swallowed down his pain and nausea as he turned over the engine. He probably shouldn't be driving either, not with his concussion, but there was no way he'd be able to fit into the middle seat and staying put wasn't an option.

" _Forty-three bottles of pop on the wall, forty-three bottles of pop! Take one down, pass it around, forty-two bottles of pop on the wall!"_

The children hadn't stopped singing, but at least they were slightly quieter. Not that it helped very much in the claustrophobic and rancid-smelling car. Sam squinted his eyes against the blinding headache that was only made worse by the blinding lights of oncoming traffic. He supposed he could just drop all of the kids off at the police station, but that would mean answering a lot of questions he had neither the ability or patience to answer. Better to just drop them all off at one of their parent's houses and let the normal adults sort them out. He'd visited all of them for interviews, surely he could find one again…

" _Thirty bottles of pop on the wall, thirty bottles of pop! Take one down, pass it around, twenty-nine bottles of pop on the wall!"_

Sam tried to think of anything except Lucifer's voice singing " _thirty years of Dean on the rack"_ and failed spectacularly.

"Turn here," Eileen nudged him exasperatedly. Sam choked back a cry as his shoulder protested vehemently. "Damnit. Just stop here, I'll deal with the kids."

His foot pressed the brake and he managed to pull over to the side of the road despite the black spots in his vision. He heard the back doors open and slam closed, and finally, _finally_ , the song stopped. Sam almost cried with relief.

"Get out," Eileen pulled the door open. Sam just stared at her stupidly. Surely she didn't expect him to come in and talk with the parents right now?

"Get in the back. You're in no state to drive," she clarified. Sam knew Dean was going to have a _cow_ about letting Eileen drive (she had her American licence now and was an excellent driver, but Dean didn't trust his _Baby_ with anyone but himself and, on rare occasion, Sam) but since he was currently snoring in the passenger seat he didn't get a vote. Getting out of the front seat required a lot more brainpower and caused a lot more pain than it really should have, but that's a concussion for you. Soon he was settled, and the familiar rumbling purr of the Impala's engine soon had his eyes drooping.

" _Twenty-two needles of pain in the Sam, twenty-two needles of pain! Pull one out, twist it about, twenty-one needles of pain in the Sam!"_

* * *

Eileen was getting _real_ tired of babysitting. Kids, she could handle. Full-grown (overgrown) men who saved the world more often than they saw a dentist were another thing entirely.

 _Winchesters._

Thankfully Dean hadn't tried to drive, although Sam was hardly better. Eileen tried and failed not to be impatient as he meandered aimlessly around the neighborhood at fifteen miles under the speed limit. Eventually she'd snapped and had him just pull over so she could walk the children home herself.

Luckily Valerie's parents had been too overjoyed with the return of their daughter to ask many questions or to mind taking care of the other four exhausted and filthy children on their doorstep. Eileen made sure to say goodbye to each of the kids. They had been exceptionally good and brave, and deserved to know how proud she was of their behavior. Soon they would convince themselves that this night was no more than a delusion, and that was for the best. She basked in the short moment of achievement as they returned to their nice _normal_ lives. _This_ is why she'd stayed in hunting even when she'd had every opportunity to leave. Saving people.

Sam was still dumbly staring at the steering wheel when she returned. It had taken less effort than she had feared to get him to lie down in the back seat like he should have been from the start. The roads were clear due to the oddball hour, and Eileen's torso was _killing_ her, so she ignored all of the speed limits and just drove to their home-away-from-Bunker as fast as possible.

They were staying at a timeshare donated by one of the parents of the missing children. Tom, she was reasonably sure. She hadn't asked for last names. It was far nicer than their usual haunts, and even included a porch that overlooked a small lake. Right now, the best feature was that it was on the first floor. There was no possible way she could haul Thor and Captain America up the stairs right now.

Dean roused as soon as she turned off the engine. For some reason, he looked pissed at her and roughly shook away her attempts to assist. He managed to get his key in the door and stumble into the apartment on the third try. Sam almost broke her nose with his forehead when he sat up abruptly at her touch. He wouldn't meet her gaze either.

"Get away from me," his lips said. Eileen just stared at him in shock. What the hell! She'd done nothing but help the Winchesters, and now they wanted nothing to do with her? Sam crawled slowly out of the car as she got her things out of the trunk. She supposed she could grab their things too, but she _hurt_ and they were being assholes. Let them fetch their own junk; she was _done_ for the night.

The timeshare had two bedrooms, but only one bathroom. Dean was in the shower already when she walked in. Eileen tried not to be unreasonably frustrated by that too and failed. The eldest Winchester had also left his filthy clothes in a stinking pile by the bathroom door. What had Dean been thinking? At least he could have dumped his crap in the bathroom where it was tiled. This wasn't some crap hotel; it was someone's home. Eileen found a trashbag in the kitchen and tossed the slimy clothes in it. She also found some carpet stain remover and applied it liberally. Hopefully the damage wouldn't be too bad. At least Sam got the idea and put his clothes in the trashbag too before sitting on a towel in his boxers on the bed. Eileen offered to help him clean his head wound, but he shook her off again. _That_ did hurt. She wasn't quite as good as Dean at patching people up, mostly because she was careful enough that she didn't often need patching, but she was still better than just sitting around in pain. Right?

Dean _finally_ finished and came out of the bathroom. Sam waved for her to go next, and she didn't argue. She was _tired_. Tired because Sam had kept her up all night (again) with his nightmares, tired because she'd been awake almost twenty-four hours straight now, and tired because she was beaten black and blue. But it was more than just physical. She was tired of the Winchesters. Tired of cleaning up their messes and taking their orders and always being an outsider. She'd chosen this life, she knew. And when it was awesome, it was _awesome_. But right now… right now it _sucked_.

Eileen turned the tap on _hot_ and wished the water would wash her Winchester problems away half as effectively as it was soothing her physical ones.


	5. Hit the Pillow

A/N: Sorry for the delay... life happened. Never fear, I am not going to abandon this story. Thank you so much for all of your comments/PMs.

Warnings for language.

* * *

Dean marched as straight as he could manage on wobbly legs through the door and into the bathroom. Usually, they'd at least talk and prioritize who went first, but he had just been _electrocuted_ so he thought he had the right. On the way, he tossed his jacket towards the coat rack. He missed, but he was too tired and sore to pick it back up and try again. It wasn't doing any harm where it was anyway.

Eileen was waiting just outside the bathroom when he came out. She looked _pissed_ at him, but he couldn't fathom why. She was the one who had botched this hunt, not him. The door was already slamming in his face before he could ask what her deal was. Whatever. He could just add that to the list of things he was going to _discuss_ with her tomorrow.

The bed was absolute heaven. Scratch that: he'd been to Heaven, and this was better. _Six hours_ , Dean promised himself. A nice long six hours of uninterrupted sleep. More than enough to be functional before heading back to the swamp to finish the rawhead for good. And after he finished the hunt properly, he was going to murder Sam and Eileen for… well, everything. And then he was going to detail his poor filthy Baby and drink a bottle of something with a high enough alcohol content to be fuel for one of those wimpy ethanol cars and then he was going to sleep again for as long as his chronically traumatized brain would let him.

Good plan.

* * *

Dean woke abruptly to the sound of Sam swearing up a blue streak. He aborted the motion to bolt out of bed about halfway through when his muscles all decided to go on strike at once. Damn but that _hurt_. He lay back and just breathed through the pain for a long minute.

"Sammy? You alright?" he called once he'd gotten himself back under control. If his brother needed him, he'd figure out a way to get the impossibly long twelve feet to the bathroom door. He knew better than to expect any help from Eileen. She couldn't hear Sam, and even if she did she was just too small to be of any use if he needed assistance.

"It's n-nothing," Sam stuttered from the other side of the wall. "S-stub-bed my t-toe. Sorry f-for waking you D-Dean."

Bullshit. He knew his brother, and that wasn't his 'I accidentally slammed my gangly limbs into something in my clumsiness' voice. That was his 'the water is ice cold' voice.

Dean's jaw clenched with anger. He'd told Eileen, again and again, not to use up all the hot water when they were on hunts. The Bunker never ran out, but dingy motels _always_ did. This place was nice, but apparently not nice enough to have a hot water tank that could deal with three ultra-muddy showers in a row.

If it were just a case of Sam dealing with a little cool water, Dean wouldn't really care. He'd used up the hot water on purpose more than once just to mess with the kid. But not for years. After the Cage, Sam was far more sensitive to cold than he would ever admit. Even now, a good chill was enough to trigger memories that were best left forgotten. If Sam was cold enough to be stuttering…

"Are you sure?" Dean asked, imbuing his voice with as much calm authority as he could muster.

"I'm f-fine, Dean. Go b-back to sleep," Sam insisted.

"Bullshit," Dean spat. His attempt to get to his feet hurt like a bitch and only succeeded in landing him on the floor with a loud _thump_. Moments later, the water turned off. Soon Sam was standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist. Dean eyed the bruises purpling around his shoulder with a practiced eye. Not dislocated, but definitely in need of a sling and a few sessions with a hot pad.

"I'm not the one you should be worried about," Sam rolled his eyes and manhandled Dean back into the bed. Despite his best efforts, he was unconscious moments after he felt the pillow on his cheek.

* * *

"DEAN!"

Eileen forced herself not to groan. She was patient, she was considerate, she was not going to strangle her boyfriend so she could get some uninterrupted sleep. She might also be lying to herself, but that couldn't be helped.

"Hey, Sam, you're dreaming again honey, wake up," she shook his shoulder gently.

"Please, no, not again, please…" he muttered, his hands grasping desperately at the sheets. Eileen shook his shoulder harder, wary for any sudden movements. She had a still-healing bruise from where he'd punched her in his sleep last week, not that she'd ever let either Winchester know.

"DEAN!"

She felt the door to their room slam open. Dean was unsteady on his feet, but his face was determined.

"Get out," she hissed. They'd talked about this before. The bedroom she shared with Sam was off-limits unless it was an emergency.

"But Sam…"

"Get _out_ ," she repeated, louder. Dean's eyes tightened angrily. "Look, you have Rules: I do too. No one is dying, so scram," she made a shooing motion with her hand. "I've got this."

"Do you?" Dean quirked an eyebrow condescendingly.

"It doesn't matter," she felt her voice go tight. Damnit. Why did she always have to cry when she was angry? It completely ruined all of her credibility. "This is my room, and I have a right to my privacy. Get out."

"Not until I know Sammy's ok," Dean crossed his arms belligerently. The motion was jerky and awkward, a far cry from his usual grace.

"Dean?" the man in question sat up slowly. "'M fine, just a nightmare," he rubbed his face.

"Just the third nightmare tonight," Dean huffed. "That's a lot, even for you."

"Piss off," Sam shot his brother a glare. Dean threw up his hands and left, slamming the door closed behind him.

"Sam?" Eileen went to caress his cheek, but he pulled away. "Talk to me, maybe that will help."

"No," he rolled over so his back was facing her, effectively ending the conversation. Eileen was too tired to pursue things, so she let it go. But his refusal to speak with her stung. She could feel his shoulders shudder as he worked through the emotions left over from his nightmare, but Eileen was powerless to help because he would not let her. It was if the few inches separating them were wider than the ocean she had crossed to return to him.

Eileen's pillow grew wet under her cheek, but she couldn't tell if it was from tears of pain or anger.


	6. Conflicts in Communication

A/N: Here comes the fight! Lucky you to get two chapters in one week :P

Words in quotes and italics _"like so_ " are in sign language only.

Warnings for foul language. (The Winchesters have potty mouths when they are mad.)

Thank you for all of your lovely reviews! I always respond as soon as I'm able.

* * *

Sam quietly made his way to the coffee machine. There was a small note propped against the _on_ button in Dean's handwriting.

 _WENT TO FINISH THE JOB. BACK BY 10._

Dean's door was open: his bed was decidedly empty. He wasn't in the bathroom either. Sam threw down the paper and looked at the clock. Five minutes until he could officially freak out about his brother going on a hunt without backup. It didn't matter that the rawhead was trussed up and almost completely powerless during the day: it was the principle of the thing. They were Winchesters, and that meant that everything that couldn't possibly go wrong always did. Additionally, Dean had been so weak last night that he'd hardly been able to stand. If the hunt went sideways (and it _always_ did) and Sam wasn't there to watch his brother's back… Sam felt a stress headache building on top of the exhaustion headache he'd woken up with. He cursed himself for sleeping in so late. He was supposedly a morning person: there's no way he should have woken up later than his night-owl brother, especially after he'd been _electrocuted_. If Sam hadn't been so weak he might have caught his stubborn brother on his way out the door. He started scrambling around for some jeans and his boots.

Sam ran smack into Eileen as she sluggishly made her way towards the kitchen table. She was usually a morning person like Sam, but today she was just as grumpy as Dean before his coffee.

" _Where's Dean?"_ she signed.

"He went after the rawhead," Sam snapped as he bent down to tie his shoes. He needed to hotwire a car and get back to that cursed swamp hours ago…

" _Where's Dean?"_ Eileen asked again, more urgently.

"I _said_ , he went after the rawhead," Sam repeated exasperatedly. It wasn't that hard of a message to understand, and there wasn't time for signing. Dean could be gasping his last breaths in the mud even now!

Eileen made a bitchface before pouring herself a cup of coffee. Sam couldn't believe her. Didn't she understand how _urgent_ this was? He opened his mouth to chastise her but she signed something before he could get the words out. He was so flabbergasted that it took her three repeats before he understood.

" _Where's the cream?"_ Eileen's face clearly portrayed her vexation.

"Are you _serious_?" Sam gaped. "We need to _go_!"

She just stared at him in confusion before starting to sign something. He slapped her hands aside.

"Can't you just speak? We don't have time for this!" His headache throbbed in time with his racing heartbeat.

Eileen's fingers became a furious flurry of motion. Sam didn't understand any of it besides the emphatic "asshole" that was repeatedly and emphatically signed. Sam felt his own anger rising to challenge his panic. It was one thing to be pissed at him, but it was another to explain it to him in such a way that he had no hope of understanding her complaint. He was about to stomp out the door to rescue Dean himself when it slammed open.

"Good of you to finally get up," Dean snarked, throwing some fast food on the table. "The rawhead's been taken care of, no thanks to you two."

Sam felt his shoulders slump momentarily with relief. Dean was fine. Thank goodness. Of course, that didn't mean Sam was any less pissed about things.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he shot back. "You're the one who hunted _alone_. What if something had gone wrong?"

"Something _did_ ," Dean growled. "Which is why I had to go back and finish the damn job _properly."_

Sam couldn't believe his ears, and he made sure his incredulity made it into his tone. "You're the one who's asking to get killed because you're too impatient and proud to get backup."

" _I'm_ not the one who's going to get killed," Dean hissed. " _You_ are. Because of _her_ ," he gestured roughly in Eileen's direction. She was currently munching on a breakfast burrito, blissfully unaware of the fight happening behind her. The mid-morning light caught her hair just so as she stared at the lakeshore just outside the window. Sam's earlier frustrations with Eileen vanished as he watched her meditatively sip her coffee. Damn, but she was beautiful. And he loved her more than he could say.

"What the _hell_ Dean?" Sam snarled, using every inch of his height to loom over his brother.

"You heard me," Dean met his eye and refused to be intimidated. "She's going to get you killed."

Sam was so startled and angry he couldn't even begin find the words to express himself.

"You don't believe me? Fine," Dean spoke over Sam's gaping silence. "But that's what's going to happen, because I can't watch your back when I have to keep an eye on her every second. I can't trust her to follow orders and I can't trust her to keep herself alive. I can't trust you to not jump stupidly in harms way to protect her. She distracts you, Sam, and you know it! You've been off your game for weeks, and it's frankly a miracle things haven't gone south before now."

Sam could feel the rage wash over him like a cold wave, chilling him to his core.

"How dare you," he said flatly. "How _dare_ you talk about her like that."

"It's the truth," Dean's lips curled into a sneer. "Her incompetence almost got us all _killed_ last night, or have you forgotten?"

"That was an accident!" Sam defended.

"Eileen!" Dean shouted in her direction. Over his brother's shoulder, Sam could see her hearing aids sitting on the side table in their bedroom. Dean pursed his lips, clearly frustrated in both Eileen's lack of response and his forgetfulness about her disability. He pointedly looked at Sam. While Dean had just enough tact to refrain from calling her deafness a liability and a weakness, his true opinion was obvious. "Hey," he slammed a fist on the table beside her. She started, spilling her coffee everywhere.

"What the hell!" she yelped.

"I was about to ask the same thing," Dean crossed his arms. "I think I deserve an explanation for last night."

Eileen drew herself up defensively, still dripping coffee. "What about last night?"

"You almost _killed_ me!"

" _Bullshit,"_ Eileen viciously signed the expletive, one hand forming the cow's head and the other flicking fictitious feces. "I saved your life! I think I deserve some thanks for that. Or for taking care of the kids. Or for cleaning up your mess."

"I shouldn't have to thank you for following orders!" Dean gesured savagely.

"They were shit orders," Eileen's words slurred in her haste to make herself heard. "You were closer to the kids and I had the rawhead under control. You should have taken care of them yourself."

"What?" Dean shook his head as he tried to parse out her poorly shaped words. She tried signing, but he just waved his hand in dismissal.

"Don't you fucking silence me!" she shrieked. "I am a hunter," she said slowly, pointedly. "I hunted alone for _years_. I can handle a rawhead alone. I _did_ handle the rawhead alone. I am not some weak incompetent female that is only good for babysitting."

"It's not like that, Eileen…" Sam started.

"Yes it is!" Eileen made her signs large for emphasis. "You are always giving me the 'safer' jobs. You and Dean were down, the kids were fine, and I did what needed done. You're pissed at me because I didn't follow your stupid Rules? Fine, be pissed. But I did my job, and I did it better than you two big strong _hearing_ men."

"Saving people comes before hunting things," Dean's face was hard. "That was what you agreed to, Eileen. You promised to do as I said during a hunt."

"Not when it means leaving you to die," Eileen responded to Dean's words, but her eyes were on Sam. "I will not follow your bullshit Rules when killing the monster is the only way to save people's lives."


End file.
